by Tara Lyons
“I’m sorry. I dropped the bottle of whiskey. Luckily, it didn’t break.” Eric’s voice distracted her from her lustful thoughts. “I saw Michael leave too. I know he always keeps some of this stuff in the office, so I thought, ‘Why not?’” he continued, shaking the Jameson bottle.
“You don’t look like you’re in the mood for a drink,” Grace said, suddenly remembering her own plans.
A moment of silence lingered before she began to feel guilty. “I’m sorry, Eric. I really have to leave. I’m supposed to be—”
“Please don’t leave me. I could really use a friend right now.”
He finally looked at her, devouring her with his watery eyes. The sadness in them called to her like a wounded puppy vying for attention.
“Oh, Eric. I wish I could. It’s just—”
“I’ve missed you these past few weeks. Our drinks after work. Our chats. I could really do with those things right now. With you.”
But he’d had her full attention at “I’ve missed you,” and she knew exactly what her next move would be.
Although nothing romantic had ever happened between them, she always wondered if it were possible. And if she was honest with herself, she knew from the moment she’d opened the door and seen Eric’s face that she wasn’t meeting Natasha. I’ll send her an apologetic message quickly. If I explain, she’ll understand. It wasn’t the first time Grace had changed her plans for him.
CHAPTER TEN
The door slammed shut with such force, the detectives stopped what they were doing and watched Hamilton storm through the incident room. “Who the fuck is leaking this information to the press?” He caught Fraser flinch. The newest member of his team hadn’t witnessed his temper, but he was damned if he was going to apologise.
“The chief is fuming,” he bellowed while pacing the room. “They’ve dubbed our third victim ‘the Lady in Red’ because she was still fully clothed. Where in God’s name do they get all these bloody facts?” Hamilton didn’t give his team time to answer before he strode off into his office in the corner of the incident room.
The shrill of the telephone startled him, and still raging from his outburst, he forcefully snatched the receiver. “What?”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re having a great day, Inspector.”
He wasn’t amused with the sarcastic comment from the caller, but he endeavoured to calm down as he recognised the voice.
“I was just about to call you, Laura, and no, it has not been a good day. Actually, it hasn’t been a bloody good start to the year.” The anger was quickly replaced with self-doubt, and Hamilton slumped into his chair. “I need to catch this guy.”
“I’m sorry to hear the disappointment in your voice, Denis. But I do have some details about your latest victim.”
Hamilton smiled at the sound of her genuine tone. He had heard through the grapevine that Laura spent years studying, to the detriment of her own social life, to become an expert in her field. With long blonde hair and an athletic body, she often received unwanted attention while working in a male-dominated profession. He respected her for using her knowledge to outwit some of the sleazebags she had to call colleagues and climb the ladder to become head pathologist.
“Brilliant, Laura. I’m all ears.”
“Okay, your victim is twenty-eight-year-old Vicky Lawlor. I’ve just sent the post-mortem report to you via e-mail, but in short, the cause of death is the same as your first two victims: stab wound directly through the heart. No DNA on the body or clothes.”
“Why leave her clothes on?” Hamilton thought aloud.
“It was New Year’s Eve. Maybe he was just disturbed,” Laura offered. “He stuck to his type: a brunette, petite, beautiful woman who looked after herself. So I’d guess it wasn’t a random attack. But maybe he slipped up and didn’t appreciate how many people would be on the street at that time of the morning.”
“Playing detective, are we?” Hamilton asked light-heartedly.
“I’m a straight-up facts and DNA kind of girl, you know that. I’m just throwing in an observation.”
“But what if he wasn’t disturbed? Thanks, Laura. You’ve given me a new viewpoint to think about. Speak soon.”
They ended the call, and Hamilton rushed back into the incident room. His haste had the desired effect—his team embraced his newfound excitement and rallied around him as he added notes to the whiteboard.
“Why the change in mood, gov?” Clarke asked.
“I don’t think her clothes were left on because he was disturbed by a passer-by, Lewis. I think he’s sending us a message.” He turned to face the team and was pleased to have gained their full attention.
Hamilton finished adding the victim’s name to the whiteboard before he continued with his theory. It built an air of excitement in the room, and he loved it. “If he was interrupted by a partygoer, surely they would have called it in and stuck around for the police, as most people do. But this murderer stuck to the same MO, and we received the anonymous tip-off. I think it’s him tipping us off. He wants us to find the bodies quickly, and he obviously wants us to know who the victims are straight away. We just have to find out why.”
“So her clothes are just another message?” Fraser asked.
“Yes, I think so, Kerry. Maybe this one was more personal than the others.”
“Perhaps this Vicky was in on it from the beginning, went rogue on him, and he took his revenge,” Wedlock shouted out.
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Hamilton replied. “Lewis, I want us to pay a visit to Vicky Lawlor’s family. I just need to update the DCI first. Here’s the post-mortem report, Sharon. Have a look at it and see if anything catches your eye; Laura doesn’t seem to think so, but I don’t want anything left uncovered. Les and Kerry, I want a full background search of our victim—everything from where she worked down to who her friends were. This could be the break in the case we needed. Let’s get to work!” Hamilton clapped his hands, and the energy surged into his team as they rushed to fulfil their tasks.
“Lewis, I’ll meet you in the car.” Hamilton bombed out of the office and made his way upstairs to see his superior. He hoped this new direction would give him extra time on a case he was worried could slip out of his hands.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The memory of her cocktail session with Eric reignited feelings of excitement that Grace hadn’t felt for months. But a bittersweet taste to the evening lingered when she recalled the reason for Eric’s sadness. He spoke of a woman he had been dating casually—Grace had quickly dubbed her “the bitch”—who had betrayed him. She was glad he didn’t want to talk further about the relationship or what the other woman had done. After an enjoyable evening in a local bar, Grace and Eric said goodnight at the tube station—not the end to the evening she had hoped for, but it was the professional one to make.
She shook her thoughts away and looked at the clock on her office wall: six o’clock. That’s enough overtime for one day. Plus, it was Friday, and no one stayed late on the weekends when there wasn’t a performance. They’d pushed back the opening date after choosing a new working title, and in the meantime, new advertising material was being produced. She and Michael hoped the media would ignore the change. The crew used the delay as an excuse to rush out into the streets of London looking for fun, and Grace supposed it was about time she rejoined her own friends. I’ll message Natasha, see if she’ll meet me for a drink and make up for my faux pas earlier in the week.
She was keen not to keep the caretaker much longer, as it was his job to lock up the theatre, so she hurried to her office to collect her belongings. She took the shortcut, along the back of the stage, but stopped suddenly when she heard movement and voices from beyond the main stage area. Certain she was on her own, she crept slowly towards the heavy black curtains, shocked to hear a woman giggling. Grace sighed with relief upon realising there was no threat, but curiosity got the better of her. She edged closer to the stage, using the curtains as a
shield, and peeped through the opening gap in the middle. What she witnessed stunned her.
Eric’s strong, masculine body pinned Emily against the wall. She laughed and wrapped her legs tighter around his waist. Her short black skirt inched farther up her thighs. Eric’s hand followed the material until his fingers crept underneath it, and she groaned. Spurred on by the moans, Eric unbuttoned Emily’s white shirt and buried his face in her ample breasts, pushed her bra away with his lips and sucked her nipples; the woman threw her head back in ecstasy. His lips glided to her neck, and his hands gripped tightly around Emily’s waist. In one swift movement, Eric pulled her from the wall and forcefully placed her down on one of the speakers. He stood between her legs, and Grace could sense his hunger as he furiously untied his belt and trousers.
Astonished by what she was watching, Grace couldn’t look away. Eric pushed his trousers to the floor, reached under Emily’s skirt, and ripped off her knickers before diving back down to kiss her breasts. Breathing heavily, Emily groaned and thrashed her head from side to side. Grace realised she had been caught spying on them when Emily’s head lingered to the left briefly, followed by exaggerated groans and a slight chuckle. Embarrassed, Grace stumbled backwards and ran off down the corridor.
Her hands quivered as she attempted to shut down her computer, collect her bag, and lock her office door. To avoid the stage, she took the longer route towards the exit, but her efforts were in vain as Emily stood brazenly in the hallway, adjusting her shirt in the mirror.
“Enjoy the show, you perv?”
“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m the assistant director of this theatre.” But Grace’s whispering tone and crimson cheeks drowned her confident words. She tried to walk past Emily, but the woman refused to move.
“Gracie, we all know you like Eric. I guess he just prefers blondes.” Emily mocked her with a flick of her curly, long hair and a deep laugh that made her shudder. The women glared at each other. Standing four inches above Grace’s petite physique, Emily looked down at her with cold blue eyes. She feared Emily would use the situation against her for a long time to come.
“Oh! Hi, ladies. Is everything okay?” Eric asked after he appeared in the hallway with Michael.
Neither woman answered him. Emily looked at their boss, and for a brief moment, Grace thought the shameless hussy looked uncomfortable.
“I didn’t realise you were still here, Michael,” Emily finally said.
“Oh, you know, just doing some research,” Michael replied, his face firmly fixed on Grace’s. “It’s been a long week, what with the changes to the play and everything. Grace, is everything okay?”
“Yes. Fine. Must dash.” She spun round and power-walked up the steep stairs to the main entrance.
She swung the door open and gulped in the cold air. Not wishing to get involved in a further confrontation with her colleagues, she ran to the side alley and made sure they passed her first before she left. Grace shook as she reached inside her handbag for her iPhone and tried to use her thumbprint to access the phone. Her skin was too sweaty for it to work. She cursed as she entered the four-digit code and opened WhatsApp.
Grace: Tash, pls meet me @ The Oak in an hour. I need a drink. An XL drink! U won’t believe what I have just seen!!!! x
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Oak was dated, and Grace couldn’t remember it ever being renovated. That was part of its charm with the regulars: it felt like a second home. Although it had only one entrance, the pub was distinctively halved. The walls of the top bar were covered with black-and-white photographs of the area from the fifties and sixties. Old punters propped themselves up against the bar or played cards. The bottom bar enticed the younger generation with a pool table and jukebox. A few odd football scarves were plastered all around the area in a bid to inject some colour on the beige walls. The weekends threw away that divide when the pub welcomed its resident DJ, who played popular tunes from his booth in the bottom bar.
Pleased to see Natasha waiting with two large glasses of white wine, Grace rushed over to her friend.
“I’m going to skate pass the fact that you dumped me on Monday because: one, you were with Eric, and he’s hot. And two, it sounds like you have some juicy gossip.”
“I wasn’t with him with him. It was just a few drinks and a chat.” Grace gulped a mouthful of wine. “But all that doesn’t matter because I just caught him having sex on the stage at work.”
“What do you mean? As in a rehearsal for a play or something? Oh, maybe I will come and see that one then.”
Grace almost choked laughing at her friend. “No, Natasha! Not for the bloody play. Would I be shocked if that was the case? I caught him having actual real-life, sneaky sex with Emily.” She lifted her eyebrows, and her lips turned up at the corners.
“What the fuck!” Natasha screamed over the music. “Emily, as in the little runner girl at the theatre? The tart, you mean?”
She took another swig of wine. “The one and only, yes. Disgusting, right? My mind keeps seeing them together. Urgh! I hope this wine kicks in soon. And after everything he said to me on Monday. ‘Oh, Grace, she’s hurt me so much,’ and ‘I can’t believe I was taken in by her.’ What a load of bullshit. Men!” Grace added an exaggerated shiver and screwed up her face, making Natasha laugh.
The two women fell back into easy conversation and jokes despite the fact that they hadn’t seen each other in over a month. Grace replenished their drinks, opting to buy a bottle of wine for them to share. As the evening progressed, the pub became crowded and the DJ hitched up the bass on his sound system. Natasha suggested they go outside. Although the smokers’ garden seemed just as busy, it had a calming atmosphere that came from strangers engaged in general chit-chat about life in a nicotine-welcomed daze. The pair only smoked when they were drunk, and Grace was ready for the occasion. She pulled a ten-pack of Mayfair from her handbag, took out two cigarettes, gave one to her friend, and lit the other for herself. She inhaled deeply, and the head rush caused a dull in her mood.
“Oh, Natasha! I feel so strange all the time.”
“You need to get laid, my friend. That’s the problem.” Natasha cackled and glanced round the garden.
Grace rolled her eyes, knowing her friend was on the hunt for men. “No, no, no! You don’t understand. I’m having these awful dreams. I mean, when I wake up, I don’t really remember much of them, but they make me feel scared. Then all these murders are happening. And I knew two of the girls. Well, actually, Natasha, you did too. Doesn’t it scare you?”
“It’s horrifying times we live in. Yes, we knew them a long time ago, but you have to understand that there’s so much violence in this city alone, it’s bound to affect everyone at some point in their lives. Sadly, every murder victim out there is someone’s friend. You know there are teenagers out there on the street, killing each other? Well, my sister went to school with a lad that was shot in a club last week. There was no fight or argument, and he died instantly. And with that, they leave a wake of people that knew them at some stage in their life. It’s terrifying to think about what crazies are walking the streets.”
Natasha drank her wine while Grace thought about what her friend had said. Thinking of more crimes being committed close to home actually didn’t help.
“But really listen, babe, maybe you need to see a shrink. I find it easy to compartmentalise these horrendous crimes because of my job. It sounds like you have some bottled-up emotions and they’re taking root in your dreams. You should seek out some professional help,” Natasha said, but her attention was now fixed on a group of men a few tables away.
As she reached for another cigarette, Grace sighed at her friend’s suggestion and lack of attentiveness. She was desperate to talk more about her nightmares with Natasha, but she was interrupted when a striking blond man at least six feet tall approached their table.
“Hiya, ladies. I’m Ben, and that’s my friend, Nicky.” The stranger gestured to the handsome man with spikey br
own hair, who peered over from his seat, obviously not as brave as this guy.
“Can we buy you both a drink?” Ben asked.
“Two white wines, please.” Natasha gave her best dazzling smile.
Grace smirked at the guy and pulled at Natasha’s jacket, leaning close to her friend’s ear. “Erm… hello, I thought we were having a chat?”
“Yes, we have chatted. It’s been great, just like old times. So let’s continue with that and have a bloody laugh. These two are hotties, and they’re not regulars. They could be fun.”
“I don’t want to have fun with these strangers. I wanted to have a heart-to-heart with my best friend, about something really serious I’m going through. I could use your help with it, not a random shrink,” she said, screwing up her face.
“And I can totally understand that, Grace. But seriously, come on now. It’s Friday night. It’s time to live, feel young and free. We can catch up about all this other stuff in the week.” Natasha turned her attention back to Ben, giggled, and stroked his huge muscles bulging through his tight black T-shirt.
Grace could feel the tears rise to her eyes as her friend dismissed her, but refusing to feel weak, she pushed them back and drained her glass of wine.
She staggered out of the pub alone. Without the halogen heaters from the smokers’ garden, the fierce wind hit her hard in the face, and she lowered her head to walk against it. The taxi office on the corner, which had always offered a safe journey home for the patrons of The Oak, had shut down before Christmas. Grace cursed her forgetfulness but refused to return to the pub. She knew that Natasha and the guys would be in full flirting mode, and she had no interest in entertaining that.
In a drunken stupor, Grace sauntered down the high street in search of an alternative route home. Perhaps I could catch the night bus. But the silent street encouraged her mind to wander to other things, thoughts of Eric and Emily being at the forefront. She felt foolish for flirting with him and believing his sob story. The cold January breeze continued to bash her, and she stumbled into the shutters of a closed bakery. The distance between her and the blaring music from the pub had increased; it had become nothing but a faint thud. Desperate to find another taxi office, she walked faster, but couldn’t ignore the sound of footsteps echoing behind her.
